


Mourn Myself In You

by Thousand_Ribbons (Meridians_of_Madness)



Series: Now Meet Him Dead [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Plug, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Bathing/Washing, Cold Comfort, Crying, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Face Slapping, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Mating Plug, Rape, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Thousand_Ribbons
Summary: Somehow, Crowley kept himself from saying thank you.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Now Meet Him Dead [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914325
Comments: 6
Kudos: 94





	Mourn Myself In You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boughofawillowtree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boughofawillowtree/gifts).



> Comes after _Severance_ , where the war comes down in favor of Hell, and an angelic Crowley discovers that his friendly demon was anything but. 
> 
> Happy Birthday, Salix!

Crowley stumbled up the stairs, stifling a groan as he emerged into the cloudy London afternoon. It might as well have been blazing noon after the darkness of Hell, and instinctively he covered his eyes with his hands.

 _Bright as the day we hung the sun, Aveniel, Lithiel and I,_ he thought helplessly. _Bright as Heaven was before._

Heaven was empty now, the gates welded shut, and Aveniel and Lithiel were dead or worse. Crowley felt as if he had been crying ever since, but no, he had only been crying for a few nights this time, since Aziraphale had sent him down to Belial's lair.

“ _Oh, it's just that Belial's been so very amiable about that little squabble we had last year, and I thought it would be clever to keep him that way,” the demon had said breezily. “And after all, it's only for a few nights, and he likes you ever so much...”_

Crowley's entire body ached, throbbing in some places, stinging in others, and if he only focused on the pain of it rather than how he had come to be this way, he'd be all right, for some definition of all right.

Aziraphale's sigil, burned into his chest, stung now that he was on earth again, and gingerly, he placed a hand over it, pressing down gently. He could resist it for a little while, he thought. Aziraphale didn't know that he had come topside yet, and unless he made a concentrated effort to pull Crowley back -he refused to say _home-_ he thought he could stay away for a little while.  
The realization that he didn't want to struck him like an ax.

He didn't want to be in the hurry of London, not when he ached so, not when he couldn't walk it like the angel he had been. If he stayed out, if he stayed away, he would be lurking in the shadows like a spy or a rat, drinking down its colors like a starving man unsure of when his next meal would come.

He couldn't stand it, and he turned his steps towards Soho and the bookshop.

*

By the time he gained the doorstep, Crowley wavered with exhaustion, his head down, his eyes on the pavement in front of him. He never got so tired in the old days, when he was allowed to sleep, but Aziraphale hadn't permitted him to do that in, oh, ages.

He tried to figure out when he had last been allowed a nap – two years ago? Four?- and finally gave up, shaking his head and all but falling through the door.

Aziraphale's wards had been keyed to him, and there was nothing more than a brief shiver as he stumbled inside. From the bustle of the city, he was suddenly enclosed in a pocket of what felt like another time, the light coming through the windows golden, the air rich with the smell of leather and dry paper and just underneath all of it, a slight and pervasive scent of wood smoke.

A rush of relief swelled up inside him, because this was no place that would welcome Belial. Belial with his dead-thing's eyes, his clammy touch, his sloughing white flesh, could never cross the threshold.

 _No_ , he thought, as strong arms wrapped around him, lifting him as if he weighed nothing, _another monster entirely lives here._

“Oh, my darling look at you,” Aziraphale murmured , “What a savage Belial is, your poor throat...”

He ran a gentle finger over the ring of bruises around Crowley's neck, tutting quietly.

 _My poor everything_ , Crowley wanted to say, but that would have pleased Aziraphale, who liked it rather too much when Crowley acted the indignant pet. It would have put them on the same side, as if Aziraphale were a friend who would sympathize with him, not a master who was only concerned about the misuse of his property. It was something he would have said before Hell won and the goat demon Aziraphale showed him that demons were still demons, regardless of their adorable affectations or eccentric quirks.

Despite that, Crowley couldn't help but cling to Aziraphale as the demon carried him gently through the bookshop to the suite upstairs. Aziraphale was the only stable thing in all the world, all he had, and fresh tears welled up in Crowley's eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Aziraphale sighed. “You've been so very brave, haven't you?”

He wouldn't have called it bravery, what he had done with Belial and for him. It sounded good, though.

In the luxurious bathroom, lit with a soft light at Aziraphale's gesture, Aziraphale undressed him carefully, peeling his clothes off with delicate care. Belial had broken skin several times with his damned lash, and the fabric of his shirt stuck to the drying blood. Aziraphale poured handfuls of water over the blood-stiffened spots, and when he finally pulled Crowley's shirt off, the pain was far less than Crowley had feared.

“There you are, that wasn't so bad,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley made a sound that Aziraphale could take as agreement if he wished.

As the bathtub filled with water, Aziraphale removed the rest of Crowley's clothing as well, leaving him standing naked before him. In the dim light, his skin glowed, the welts across his back and his chest raised and vivid, nearly black. Aziraphale made a pained sound at seeing them, and he ran a finger over each one, bringing the swelling down and banishing most of the pain with a touch. Despite himself Crowley gasped, almost dizzy with relief from the pain, and Aziraphale made a satisfied sound.

“That's better, isn't it?” Aziraphale asked softly. “Come on. Into the bath with you.”

The hot water made him flinch, but soon enough, he sunk in up to the chin, letting his eyes drift shut as Aziraphale began to clean him. The demon was methodical, starting at the crown of his head and pouring cup after cup of hot water down to clean his hair.

“I'm so sorry he was cruel to you,” Aziraphale murmured, cleaning his face with a soft cloth. “Look at how he hurt you, poor dear.”

Crowley wanted to tell him to shut up, to take his sympathy and eat it with the tea sandwiches he had always loved so much, but there was a part of him, a hurt and dark and shameful part of him, that craved it. He wanted sympathy and sweetness and the way Aziraphale was so careful of his bruises and the sore places that were just beginning to feel a little better.

He kept his hands fisted underwater by his sides as Aziraphale tended to him, and then Aziraphale sighed, pulling the plug on the water.

“Darling, I'm going to need you to get up on all fours, please.”

Without thinking, Crowley hissed, and Aziraphale tapped him lightly on the cheek, not a slap, barely a blow at all, but it was somehow more humiliating than Belial had been from beginning to end.

“Now, please.”

The edges of the sigil heated in warning, and whatever slight defiance Crowley could mount collapsed. He raised himself up on his hands and knees, the water beginning to drain away, and he grit his teeth as Aziraphale's fingers spread him open. He might have borne it better if Aziraphale was rough, but the demon was only gentle as he fingered the plug that filled Crowley's arse.

“ _Such_ a savage,” Aziraphale muttered angrily, and Crowley cried out as Aziraphale started to work at the waxy plug with restrained vengeance.

For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the memory of Belial's form juddering over his, filling him with what felt like gallons of spend, and then that terrible moment after when Belial's cock had grown even larger inside him. Belial's broken nails scraped his shoulders raw, and the demon uttered a sound that was more pain than pleasure. Belial's seed was hot, but what came after was thick and cooler, hardening even as the demon pulled out.

“There,” he had said, dragging Crowley down to rest sobbing by his side. “That'll keep the rest from nosing after you for a bit. Who knows, maybe you'll want to keep it in, see if that makes Aziraphale give you a little break, hm?”

No, it wouldn't, and Aziraphale's calm patience won out as the plug started to finally release its adhesive grip and slide back.

“No,” Crowley muttered, shutting his eyes tight. “No, no, no ...”

“It'll be better in just a little bit, sweetheart,” Aziraphale said kindly. “Just a little longer, my own.”

Tears dripped down his face, and Crowley unraveled in a series of broken sobs as the plug finally slid free. Immediately after it was out, a gush of hot liquid followed, running down his thighs, turning the inch of remaining water underneath him milky and tinged with just a little red. Revulsion made Crowley gag, and he tried to scramble up and away, but an iron hand landed on the back of his neck, keeping him in place.

He should have gone still, but the violation of what had happened, what had _still_ happening, overwhelmed him. He came up swinging, twisting like a snake and lashing out with his fists. He caught Aziraphale what must have been a ringing blow across the face before the sigil on his chest burned, and against his will, his limbs locked, dropping him back in the tub with a hard thump.

“Sh, sh, it's all right, it's all right, I'm here, I'll make it better,” Aziraphale said, passing firm hands over his body. “Be calm, darling, it's all right. Shush now...”

He turned the water on again, warm and not hot this time, and Crowley whined as the demon rinsed him clean, cup after cup of water until it ran clear.

Somehow, he kept himself from saying _thank you._

He drifted in and out as Aziraphale dried him off, and then he was being ushered to the bedroom. Just looking at the enormous bed with its plush pillows and crisp sheets made him sleepy, but he knew better than that.

Instead, he allowed himself to be spread out on the mattress like a meal, and Aziraphale stepped back to look at him.

The sun was setting, throwing the room into shadows, and Crowley shifted on the sheets, his body both his own and not, his thoughts scattered like dead leaves.

“What do you see?” he found himself asking. His voice was far away, echoing oddly. Did it belong to him? It seemed unlikely.

“I see the angel Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his voice hushed. “I see someone who is beautiful despite what was done to him. Someone brave. Someone precious.”

There was something in him that still responded to those words. Water welled up in his eyes without any sorrow he could feel, and he sighed, turning towards Aziraphale's hand as the demon reached over to touch his face and then kiss his mouth.

He thought there was a time when it would have meant something to him, the demon Aziraphale bent over and kissing him as if he were too delicate to bear more. Maybe it had mattered in Rome, or on the high bluffs Wessex, or perhaps the hectic days of Elizabeth, but that was over and done with. Crowley sank into the fact that it didn't hurt this minute, that his cock started to stir against his thigh as Aziraphale came to lie down next to him. The demon's manicured hand circled his shaft, stroking gently even as his mouth explored Crowley's with something akin to tenderness.

“Poor thing,” Aziraphale murmured. “It's all right. You're home now. I'll make you feel so very good, I promise. I won't hurt you.”

“Home,” he murmured numbly. Once he had thought Aziraphale was.

“Yes,” Aziraphale responded, gathering him close. “You're home.”


End file.
